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Harry grunted as he felt a ball of … something start to form in his chest. Magic? Something affecting his soul? It wasn’t entirely clear but once he felt it appear, it was impossible to ignore, impossible to focus on anything else.
He stepped away from his work, sitting down on a rarely-used chair as he directed his attention inward.
Definitely something magical, he quickly deduced. Not a bond, but something very similar, just not dragel. The ball was his own magic, with several threads extending out of it. Most were relaxed and loose, but one was taut and tugging on the source of his magic.
Ah, his feathers.
So far, he’d given five away. Too many considering how young he was, according to several of his kind. Each one he gave away made the magic weaker, so it was a huge risk. But three of them already had their names inscribed on his soul. It only made sense that when things became more formalized that he gifted each of them a feather. As for the others … well, family needed a way to call upon him if he was needed.
Each feather was unique enough that it was a simple matter to follow the thread connecting his magic back to the feather. It hadn’t been destroyed yet, but the holder was worrying it, getting close to that point of destruction.
Green eyes snapped open.
A warning.
He wasn’t needed yet, but he might be needed shortly.
Not knowing how long he did, Harry prepared as much as he could, casting stasis spells over his workstations, making sure that nothing would be left brewing or unattended. Left a note for anyone who might come looking for him.
Grabbed his blade, just in case.
He was grateful for the warning, because he knew from experience how quickly a summons could happen, had seen how one of his Nest could simply disappear with no way for the others to follow and no way to know when they would be returning. He still keenly remembered the panic, the terror that he’d experienced the first time one of the others had just … vanished.
And all of the drama that came afterwards.
When the summons finally came, it wasn’t the violent, explosive sort with lots of flames that the Fire Phoelixes were known for. His reappearance wasn’t heralded by the dramatic whirlwind that meant an Air Phoelix. Being Earth, in the time it took to inhale, his body hardened into stone, then crumbled into dust, and in the time it took to exhale that same breath, his form was being rebuilt into that same stone body wherever he’d been recalled to.
Almost immediately, his hand was down at his side, the blade halfway out of its sheath before he processed the humid room and the pale blue walls, the sound of water trickling down the walls. His eyes roamed the room, then crinkled as he smiled at the small figure sitting on the end of the bed, their feet soaking in a small pool.
“Tara,” he breathed.
They stood and, with quick, neat steps, crossed the pool to stand in front of Harry. “My hero,” they purred as they ran a slender finger down his chest, before their hand dropped down to rest on top of his where it was lingering over his sword, pushing the blade back into its sheath. “So prepared.”
Harry’s lips twitched. “You certainly gave me enough warning. Was that intentional?”
Taranis shrugged a slim shoulder. “Yes and no. I was curious, so I ran a few experiments of my own. You have yours, I have mine.”
“And what exactly were you testing?” Harry asked, even as the memories came flooding back. Tara’s magic could be finicky, sometimes coming in floods and sometimes just in drips. And every so often, the faucet shut off completely, leaving them without access to their magic for hours, days, even weeks. There were some solutions, but they were imperfect ones—for now.
He lifted his hand from the sword hilt, twisting his hand to pick up Tara’s, fingers already moving to find their pulse and other vitals, smoothly casting the usual set of diagnostic spells.
When one was born into magic, grew up with it being ever-present, to suddenly be without it was a terrifying thing. As with all who came from the Merrow or had some amount of Merrow heritage, Taranis was never completely defenseless, but magic was another layer of protection. Knowing there were times that they were without that protection, might not have a way to call for help, never sat well with Harry or the others.
He’d also always had the question of whether a feather’s summons relied on the magic of the individual who destroyed the feather and summoned the Phoelix or whether it relied on the Phoelix’s magic. He was sure that others had already done the same experiment, had tested it out themselves and could have provided the answer had he simply asked, but he’d wanted to truly know for himself.
So, when he’d gifted his feather to Taranis, he had asked them to destroy it the next time they found themselves without their magic, with a promise to replace the destroyed feather.
And now he had his answer.
“How it compared to other feathers and what sort of damage it could take before it was destroyed enough for a summons,” Tara said. “I figured I would only get the one opportunity.”
“You figured correctly,” Harry replied, feeling the feathers under his skin ruffle ever so slightly. But he quickly starting smoothing them, knowing that he had started it when he’d suggested his own experiment. They smoothed even quicker when Tara gave him a fanged smile, the faintest hint of relief in their blue eyes, before they went up on tiptoe and started nuzzling at his neck.
“It worked,” they said as Harry’s arms reached around to embrace the smaller figure.
He jolted ever so slightly when he felt the fangs sink into his neck, because while he’d grown up around dragels and blood-sharing, he still wasn’t used to being one of the sources, but he remained in place, tightening his grasp on Taranis as they settled it. “Yes,” he agreed. “It worked.”